


All the songs make sense

by Hedwig_Dordt



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon? What Canon?, Demiromantic Character, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedwig_Dordt/pseuds/Hedwig_Dordt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harvey knows a few things about himself: he is primarily but not exclusively attracted to women. He likes sex, in copious quantities, with a willing partner. Or two. So what is his brain doing looping back to Mike Ross?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the songs make sense

**Author's Note:**

> So, after watching about three episodes of Suits, I was complaining to my darling friend Fightyourdragon that nobody has written fic wherein Harvey begrudgingly comes to the conclusion he’s in love with Mike. “So write it yourself :),” she said. "Sure," I wrote back, "that could be a fun ficlet."
> 
> Fightyourdragon beta'ed, grammar checked and US-picked it, for which I'm thoroughly grateful. Remaining faults are mine. 
> 
> Fair warning: I started writing this baby having seen very little of the series, so canon? What canon?
> 
> There's a self-depricating joke about bisexuals I nicked from tumblr, that could be understood as biphobic. Please take that as a self-depricating joke and not as biphobic.

Harvey knows a few things about himself: he is primarily but not exclusively attracted to women. He likes sex, in copious quantities, with a willing partner. Or two. And yet, here he is on a Saturday night, martini within reach on the bar, surveying New York’s beautiful people in the bar making eyes at each other, feeling bored as hell. Again. It’s the same old song and dance and he is over it. He knows exactly how to get from small talk, to innuendo, to let’s take this somewhere more private. The predictable rhythm used to soothe him. Now, it simply eaves him cold and holds no interest for him.

The next track starts, Dave Brubeck’s Take Five. He smiles - the beat of the song is a 5/4, an impossibility. It reminds him of Mike a little, fuller than is really possible, brimming with possibility.

He checks his watch, eleven thirty, and wonders where Mike is now. He picks up his martini to cover his frown: it’s the fourth time tonight that he’s caught himself wondering what his associate is doing in his spare time. He could be in a bar somewhere in the city, ineptly flirting with a girl. Or a boy, for all Harvey knows. The thought turns his stomach in knots. Realistically, he is going over the stacks of paperwork he saddled the man with on Friday afternoon. He is done for tonight, he decides. He finishes his martini and slips his credit card to the bartender, and leaves a generous tip under the glass.

He walks to the door, smiling brightly at an acquaintance while he puts on his coat. He tries to project the image he is leaving to see someone. Outside, he hails a cab and gives the driver his address.

“Mind if I keep the radio on?” the cabbie asks.

“No, no problem,” he says, staring out the window. He can tune out inane pop songs for a while.

 _It drives you crazy_ , the song on the radio goes, _But you know you wouldn't change anything, anything, anything. Welcome to New York_. Like Mike, he smiles at the city. He loves New York at night. It feels different from the day, more edgy, almost predatory. He takes his phone from his pocket to check for texts. He considers texting Mike, just to check how his work is going. It is a complicated bit of work, and he didn’t give a lot of instruction. But then, that is the interesting thing about Mike: whatever he throws at him, Mike dodges, catches, figures out what to do with it. Mike bounces back from it. With an unwitty retort. Mike never bores him. Annoys him, yes, frequently, insisting he ought to feel something he has no intention of feeling. But just as often he is proud of him. And a little territorial: Mike is his find, his to treasure.

The chauffeur stops, as they’ve reached his building. He pays and gets out of the cab, crosses the pavement to his apartment, and enters. He waves at his doorman and presses the button for the elevator. On the elevator, he checks his whatsapp. Automatically checks for Mike’s status. _Mike Ross is typing a message_ , it says. Harvey’s stomach jolts. He closes his phone and waits for the message chime.

When he arrives at his floor, he crosses the hallway, and enters his apartment. He hangs up his coat, and checks Mike’s whatsapp status again. _Last seen at 00:08_. He brushes his teeth, undresses and slides into bed. He connects his phone to the charger and decides against setting it on vibrate, in case Mike needs him.

On Sunday morning, he treats himself to a leisurely wank, with lots of lube and no rush, thinking of nobody in particular. He takes a moment to bask in the glow and showers. His thoughts automatically return to Mike, no matter how ardently he had avoided doing so earlier: what had he been typing at midnight? Should he call Mike later to see how he is doing? No, best not, he figures. He smiles a little and starts humming a song he heard in a coffee shop last week. _You light me up inside/Like the fourth of July/Whenever you’re around/I always seem to smile_. It is sappy and undoubtedly true.

He towels off, puts on jeans and a t-shirt, and goes to his kitchenette to make breakfast. He starts the coffee maker, puts two slices of bread into the toaster and starts frying an egg and some bacon. As he waits for the white to set, he takes stock of his mind’s behaviour towards Mike. He wants Mike to be successful. Happy. He enjoys his company. He looks forward to seeing him. He looks for opportunities to expand their relationship into something resembling friendship.

He puts the toast on a plate, pours a cup of coffee, and plates the eggs and bacon. He wants Mike to respect him, and even to like him. Personally. In spite of his few flaws, not just for the shiny exterior. He eats his breakfast. He wants to know what Mike has for breakfast, and if he has coffee with it or orange juice. Maybe both? He puts his plate and cutlery in the dishwasher. This madness has gone on long enough. It is time for some research. He starts up his laptop and starts sipping his coffee. “all the songs are about him”, he types. Before he hits enter, he realises what is wrong with him.

In an attempt to force him into understanding of romance, his roommate had made him watch a BBC series. A crucial scene, according to her, was where the hero defended the heroine’s somewhat dishevelled appearance as bringing out her best features. That is where we realise he’s been in love with her for much longer than he knows himself, his roommate explained gleefully.

The internet seems to confirm that: all the songs are about him because at some point in the last four months, _he fell in love with Mike Ross_.

For most of his adult life, Harvey cultivated allies, clients, and people that owe him favours. For the first time in years, Harvey realises what he needs now is a friend. Someone who will listen to him as he complains about falling for the one person that cannot return his affection freely. Because Mike is his subordinate. For the first time in years, Harvey Spencer has no idea what to do. He is so screwed.

He goes over his options: fire Mike -unacceptable. Mike is the best associate they’ve had in years. Plus: he’d have to hire someone else. Tell Mike: unacceptable. He’d get slapped with a sexual harassment suit, and Mike might leave anyway. Which leaves alternative number three: keep Mike on as his associate and keep his feelings under wraps. No big deal, he’s been compartmentalising for years. He can do this. It might turn out a temporary infatuation anyway.

He gets up from behind his computer goes looking for his Al Green records. He’s allowed to wallow one night.

 

On Wednesday, Rachel asks Mike if he’ll be celebrating.

“Celebrating what?” he asks.

“You’ll have survived a year at Harvey’s hands.”

“Really? A year already?” He shrugs. Even if he is going to celebrate, he has no intention of doing it at the firm. If anything, he’ll have to get away from it.

Mike will freely admit he doesn’t always have the best luck in relationships. No, strike that. He doesn’t have the best choice in crushes. Trevor, for starters. Nowadays, they are very good friends, but Mike vividly remembers ardently wishing his friend were a little less straight. Even when it was obvious Trevor wasn’t a very good friend, Mike maintained a sense of loyalty towards him that was borderline suicidal. Then came his crush on Jenny, equally stupid, because let’s face it, his best friend’s girlfriend? Not a very good choice. But crushing on Harvey Spectre takes the fucking cake. Skirt chaser, out of his league, and very much his boss. Crushing on Dana would make more sense -hell, Jessica would be more sensible. Yes, she’s Harvey’s boss, but that does mean he doesn’t have to see her every working day.

So. Not gonna happen. He is going to be a professional about this, do his work, watch and learn and relegate fantasies about his boss’ perfect jawline to the quiet of his bedroom. The series of unsent texts are nobody’s business but his own.

He has invested in better suits since he started working at Pearson Hardman. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look the part after all. When he walked in the first time wearing his latest acquisition, Harvey had looked stricken for a split second, but quickly regaining his composure, just giving an appreciative nod.

“Your briefs.” Mike had said neutrally, handing over the file.

“One day I’ll get you to wear a proper tie.” Harvey says, accepting the folder. Mike had counted it a win.

 

However, surviving the year at Pearson Hardman does merit celebration, so on Saturday evening, Mike decides it’s time to put on his big boy skinny jeans and go looking for a distraction. It’s just a crush, he tells himself, and he can get over this, so he will. He takes a cab into town and walks into the first club that has thumping music and not too much of a line. He buys himself a beer, and surveys the scene. The volume is up, the dj is putting on pop tunes and the dance floor is filling up. Mike usually drinks at least one beer to feel limber enough to join the dancing. He finishes his beer, orders a second and takes it with him onto the floor when Kids of 88 is getting mixed in as the next song.

The music is loud, the rhythm easy. Mike lets the music wash over him. _Let’s get unprofessional, baby / don’t you know it gonna feel so much better with_. He grins and sways to the beat, flirts a little with a girl, dances a little with her, and lets her go. He finishes his beer, and puts his glass on one of the floor tenders’ trays. A man leers a little too appreciatively at his ass, so he moves across the floor a little. He hasn’t decided if he’s going for a man or a woman tonight. _There are no friends for bisexuals, only prey_ , he remembers from the time when he still had time to fuck around on social media. Then he spots a guy at the bar across the floor. Tall, square jawed, blond. Designer jeans and an off the rack button-down shirt. It fits him well enough. Two friends with him, all of them sipping from a tumbler. Probably whisky. He gives him an appreciative once over and turns around to wiggle his hips. He looks over his shoulder to see the guy looking back at him, raising his glass at him. He smirks, jackpot, and keeps dancing for a minute.

When the man is still watching him after two songs, he stalks over, consciously imitating Harvey's swagger.

“What are you celebrating?” Mike asks nodding at the glass.

“Who says I’m celebrating?”

“Your drink and your entourage,” Mike says matter-of-factly.

“Well done, Sherlock,” the man says with an edge of teasing. “Maybe I’m celebrating the beauty in the world?”

“You’re doing your part,” Mike says before he can stop himself.

The man laughs, “I appreciate a direct approach. You’re not too bad yourself. Drink?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

The man waves at the bar tender, who promptly brings another tumbler. It’s probably going on a tab. Mike takes a sip. It’s whisky indeed, a blend. “Campeltown Loch?” Mike asks.

“Good taste.” The man seems surprised. Mike lifts an eyebrow.

“Mike. Mike Ross,” he says holding out his hand.

“Bill Croydon," the man says. They make small talk while they finish their drinks, but they both know where this is headed. Mike just hopes he can stop himself from moaning the wrong name.

In the small hours of Sunday morning, Mike gets dressed quietly before sneaking out of the house. Sure, Bill had suggested breakfast, but Mike wants to get away while he can. They haven’t exchanged numbers, and Mike has taken some work home with him he wants to get done before Monday. Outside the apartment, he hails a cab to get him home.

On Monday morning, Donna looks him over and immediately just knows.

“Good for you, kid,” she says. “Do you have his number?”

“Whose number?” Harvey seems to come out of nowhere. "And I don't pay you to gossip in the corridors, I pay you to do actual work."

Mike hands over the analyses that had taken up most of his Sunday afternoon. Harvey opens the file and pretends to read it.

"No phone numbers," Mike says to Donna. From the corner of his eye he tries to gauge Harvey's reaction, but his face is as impassive as ever.

"You didn't give or you didn't ask?"

Mike grins widely, “a gentleman…”

“Which you’re not,” Donna cuts him off.

“Didn’t ask. I snuck out Sunday morning.”

“You tart!” she teases without heat. Mike tries to figure out whether the edge of Harvey’s mouth seems relieved at his confession or about the quality of his work.

“I figured you could use those data,” he says to Harvey.

“Hmmm? Oh, yeah. Good work.” Harvey turns around and walks to his office.

“I left next assignment in your inbox,” Donna says. “Happy Monday!”

Mike turns and waves her off.

 

Harvey vows to keep his distance from Mike, his personal feelings notwithstanding. But for all that he tries keeping a careful distance, Mike seems just as intent to break whatever barriers exist between them. They have drinks together every now and again, because Mike insists he should act like a human being from time to time. He is careful to limit the amount of alcohol he takes in, and encourages Mike to do the same. The first time they went, Mike got spectacularly drunk and more than a little handsy.

_ “C’mon Harvey, I know you want to,” Mike said, leaning on him, a little crosseyed with intoxication. _

_“It doesn’t matter what I want. I’m your boss,” he’d said sternly. “And you’re drunk,” like an afterthought._

_“But if you weren’t? Would you? You know, want me?”_

_“Mike, you’re the smartest guy I know. Figure it out.” Harvey asked for a bottle of water and the check. The account settled, he hauled Mike up to get him out of the bar. He tried his hardest to avoid feeling Mike’s warm skin under his hands, to ignore the call of that slim, strong body. He hails a cab, and folds Mike in before getting in through the other door. He gives the cabbie Mike’s address. Mike flops his head into Harvey’s legs, his eyes closed._

_“I think you want to. Want me. You act like you want people to think you’re a jerk, but you’re secretly as softy inside.” Mike said, “It’s okay, I can wait. Moral white knight in a villain suit.”_

_“Just don’t throw up in the cab,” Harvey said._

_“I won’t. I’m not that drunk,” Mike protested._

_“Have some water, you need to sober up a bit or you’ll fall asleep in the elevator to your floor.”_

_Thank god Mike took the bait and sat up straight again to drink the water. When the cab stopped in front of his building, Harvey felt he could let him go inside without supervising. Probably for the best: the last time he had been at Mike’s apartment, he had been on an emergency mission. It had been late, and Mike had opened the door wearing nothing but boxers and a threadbare shirt. Sure, he’d gotten dressed, but not before presenting Harvey with evidence that biking everywhere does wonders for his legs._

_He gave his own address to the driver and zones out for the duration of the trip. He can’t take Mike home, he knows that. But doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about what it would be like if it were allowed. What it would be like if they could wake up together. Not just for sleepy morning sex, but for breakfast in bed, for asking someone where his tie could be, for pouring two cups of coffee. He fantasises about cooking together even if he can’t remember when he last cooked. He is a little weirded out how creepily domestic his fantasies are. Or was it always there and has he only just caught on? Romantic entanglements are not something he wanted before. He wants independence and a challenge. He has a job he likes for a boss he respects. He will not lose Jessica’s respect by acting on his feelings for his… Mike. But damn, Mike makes it hard for him sometimes._

_ He found The Greatest Hits of Ruby & the Romantics and a decent glass of Scotch before going to bed. He wakes up with the lyrics of Our day will come still playing in his brain. _

 

The offer was simple enough: get an actual law degree and you’ll have a job as junior partner. So Mike takes exam after exam. Between his eidetic memory and his job environment -read: Harvey’s tutoring and the immediate application of the course material- it turns out easier than he expected. The hardest part was coming clean with Jessica, so he and Harvey had agreed to do that until after he was about halfway into his law degree. At Columbia but still. Pearson Hardman had made him an offer, and with that he was no longer Harvey’s immediate subordinate. Which means he can legally say yes to Harvey.

Mike pays extra attention to what he’s wearing on the Thursday he is going to sign his official contract. For all that he has kept his distance from Harvey, he knows the man appreciates a proper suit. He decides to splurge on a cab to bring the case of champagne he bought to celebrate his promotion. Still, he is inexplicably nervous when he arrives at the office.

He checks his seat at his cubicle twice, and the underside of his desk for pranks, but finds none. On his desk is a manilla envelope containing the paperwork. He goes to Jessica’s office a little after nine. His knuckles are white and the envelope a little crumpled when he arrives at the corner office. Donna smiles genially as he passes. He finds himself checking if Harvey is in his office, but he doesn’t see him. He swallows his disappointment. He knocks on Jessica’s door, though it’s glass. Ten minutes later, he is officially a lawyer at Pearson Hardman.

“Congratulations and welcome on board,” Jessica says shaking his hand, “now go talk to Harvey.”

“Thank you,” Mike says. “Wait, why?”

“You’re his find,” she says in her ‘you know what I mean’ voice.

“Right. True. I’ll talk to Harvey.” Mike stammers. Jessica will always intimidate him a little. “I’ll go talk to him right now.”

Jessica gives him a knowing nod. Mike wonders for a second if she knows that’s he’s been nursing a crush, or just really good at being politely discomforting. Possibly both. He gets up and leaves the office, his copy of his contract in his hand.

“He’s waiting for you,” Donna says with another unnerving smile. What is it with the women in this firm? Mike wonders just before he enters the office where Harvey is pretending to be busy. He holds up the papers in victory.

“We did it!” he says beaming.

“You did it, rookie.” Harvey says, smiling his fullest truest smile.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore. I added a clause.”

“Congratulations on finally becoming a lawyer.”

“Thanks,” Mike says and takes a deep breath. He’s prepared these lines. “Would you do me…”

“In a heartbeat,” Harvey says deadpan.

Mike’s mouth drops open. Harvey looks uncharacteristically nervous for a moment. “Did I read that wrong?” Harvey asks cautiously. “Because I’m not sorry, but I assure you it will not affect our working relationship.”

“I was… I had this whole thing planned.” Mike finally says. “I wasn’t sure, maybe drinks first?”

“Never be careful about what you want,” Harvey says getting up from his chair.

“Haven’t stopped giving free advice?” Mike walks over to the desk, circles around it.

“You’re my find. You look good, I look good.” Harvey walks to meet him, stretching out his arm towards Mike. Mike will later swear that time slowed like in the movies. Mike lifts his hand to slip it under Harvey’s collar, looking into his eyes.

“I’ve waited for this, I want to get this right,” Mike breathes. He notices Harvey’s pupils are dilating - sign of arousal, his brain provides - and Harvey’s mouth is already a little open as Mike closes the last few inches between them. He presses his mouth against Harvey, carefully plastering himself against no-longer-his boss. Harvey licks against his lips, teasing them open. He lets his lips be worked apart, smiles into the kiss, smiles at the feeling of Harvey’s hand against the small of his back, Harvey’s cologne in his nose. He shivers, though he isn’t cold, he wants to drown in this, to never let this end. He hears Harvey moaning softly, and feels him canting his hips unconsciously.

The door opens, and they let go of each other abruptly. Donna and Jessica are in the doorway looking at the spectacle. As they straighten their jackets, Donna holds up her hand. Jessica hands her a bill.

“Really, Harvey? That wasn’t even five minutes.”

“Well, I may have started it.” Mike says as he’s straightening his tie. “Since I’m no longer his to be responsible for.”

“Get to work. Both of you,” Jessica says curtly and turns around to leave Harvey’s office. In the door, she turns around: “If for some reason this doesn’t work out, I’m not getting in the middle of this.”

“There goes that fantasy,” Mike mutters. Harvey looks at him with big disbelieving eyes. “I have a vivid imagination!” Mike defends himself. “Also, I’m out of here. If I stay any longer, I might molest you anyway. I have dinner reservations for two. I’m paying. Because I can.”

Harvey smiles at him. “Alright, your treat. It better be good.”

“I’m always good,” Mike says, “and you trust my judgement.”

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes sir,” Mike says with a shit-eating grin and starts to walk out. “Pick you up at seven?”

“Sure thing.”

Mike looks like he wants to say something else, but thinks better of it. He has to go be a lawyer now. He’ll let Harvey ruin him later tonight.

Dinner is a low-key event by Harvey’s standards, but when you’re professionally required to eat at fine restaurants, dinner at Craft is a nice change of pace. They share a bottle of wine and banter about movies and books and music. It’s oddly comfortable, they’ve had dinner before, but this is different. They are different. Tonight is different. They are seated opposite each other and the tension between them is cackling in the air. They garner a few looks, from envious to intrigued, but none of them can spoil their mood.

“So when did it happen for you?” Mike asks, because he’s incapable of not asking.

“What happen?”

“When did I get promoted from associate to… someone to have… dinner with?”

“I’m not sure,” Harvey says. “I mean, hiring you wasn’t the most rational thing I ever did.”

“Well, I happen to be a catch,” Mike says.

Harvey grins indulgently and concedes the point. “Anyway, I’ve never been very interested in romance.” Mike looks at him with a disbelieving impression. “Yes, there were women, and some men. I like having sex.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Mike deadpans.

“It’s… I’ve always made it clear I wasn’t pursuing a relationship with anyone. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, apart from you using that brain the way it was intended.”

“At your service?” Mike suggests.

“Not long term, no. That would be a colossal waste.” He smirks, “but for a while, yes.”

“So, what happened?”

“I figured it out.”

“Right. Because you’re a smart guy.” Mike declines to delve further into what exactly Harvey had figured out, and takes a bite of his agnolotti instead.

“Be that as it may, this was somewhat new territory for me,” Harvey says without prompting. “You’re the first person in a long long while that I find interesting over a longer period of time.” He takes a bite of sea bass. “And you?”

“What? Dating history or just you?”

“Either. Both.”

“Not much by way of relationships. I’ve had a weird life.” Harvey hums his understanding: Mike had been young when he lost his parents, and the combination of grief and precociousness had set him apart from his peers. “Figured out I’m biromantic by awkwardly crushing on he-who-must-not-be-named.” Harvey’s mouth curls in distaste at the veiled reference to Trevor, before going back to the start of the sentence.

“Wait a minute? Biromantic? What does that even mean?”

“Interested in romantic relationships with a person of either or any gender.” Mike intones like he’s quoting a dictionary.

“You can’t go making up words like that!”

“Why not? It’s a good word! It distinguishes between wanting sex and wanting to date. I thought you of all people would appreciate that.”

“What do you mean, ‘me of all people’?” Harvey bristles.

“I don’t know, I figured you were aromantic for a while: string of lovers, yet no steady relationship that I could see.”

“That could be by design,” Harvey objects.

“Hence, aromantic,” Mike points out. “I didn’t think you were asexual. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he adds as an afterthought. “But you seemed interested in more than friends, so I’ve tentatively changed your label to demiromantic.”

“Again with the made-up words.”

“Someone very rarely interested in romantic relationships, and usually after developing a friendship of sorts.”

“Demiromantic,” Harvey says as if he’s trying the word on for size. “So what are you?”

“Biromantic bisexual,” Mike says without hesitation, and Harvey just shakes his head a little. “You still think it’s weird,” Mike concludes.

Harvey shrugs. “weird seems good right now.”

Mike will never admit that made him melt inside.

As promised, Mike pays for dinner. They leave the restaurant together. On the sidewalk, they need to make a decision: one cab or two.

“So that was fun,” Mike says, suddenly awkward.

“Did you have anything else planned for me?” Harvey asks smiling.

“Well, planned not really.” Mike decides to go for it, throw caution in the wind and all that, and moves a little closer, his hand searching for Harvey’s, “but I kinda want to get…a nightcap maybe?”

Harvey slides his fingers into Mike’s hand and moves in to stand a mere inch in front of him. He leans in and ghosts into Mike’s ear: “Your place or mine?”

Mike feels his mouth go dry and knees go weak. “If we go to mine, you’d probably complain about the sheets. And I think your drink selection is better. Plus, I paid for dinner. I can only hope you decide to put out.”

“On our first date? What kind of man do you take me for?”

Mike slides his hand over the zipper where he can feel the outline of Harvey’s erection growing. “I know exactly what kind of man you are, Harvey Specter, so don’t play coy with me,” he grins.

They flag a cab to Harvey’s apartment and make out on the back seat, necking like teenagers, any residual unease overridden by desire. They carefully stay above the belt, content for the moment with the promise of more, soon.

They arrive at Harvey’s apartment building, and Mike pays for the cab. Harvey lets him in.

“Good evening Mr. Specter,” the doorman says to Harvey.

“Good even, Chris,” Harvey says as he pushes the button for the elevator. There is a ding, and the middle elevator opens.

“You have a good night,” the doorman says.

“Thank you. We will,” Harvey says, his in-control smirk in full force.

Mike quietly vows to wipe it of his face. Tonight. Starting now. As the elevator moves up, he presses Harvey against the wall and kisses him, slipping his tongue over Harvey’s teeth, tasting him, feeling the differences in texture. Mike is a little taken aback with how Harvey just melts into it, lets him take, sliding his hands under Mike’s jacket to keep him close. In other contexts, Harvey always has the upper hand, but here he seems content to let Mike take what he will.

The elevator dings to indicate they’ve arrived at the floor. They cross the corridor to the door.

“Are you ready for this?” Harvey asks.

“I’ve already seen your apartment,” Mike says, “several times.”

Harvey shrugs and opens the door. He lets Mike enter first. Mike hangs his coat on a peg, and starts to take off his shoes. If Harvey is okay with him taking, than shoes will only get in the way. Harvey closes the door behind them, leaving the keys in the lock and hanging up his coat before taking his shoes off. Mike leans his hip against the wall - not sure if he should just barge into Harvey’s home right now. Harvey straightens up.

“So you want a drink first?”

Mike beckons him, and Harvey smirks, undoubtedly sure where this is going. He moves closer anyway, lets himself be drawn into this. Mike takes a deep breath, and decides now or never. “I want to see you spent,” he whispers into Harvey’s ear, “I want to strip you out of this suit, and I want to suck your dick until you see stars. I want to finger you open nice and slow, and then, when you’re good and ready, I want to fuck you.”

“Seriously, kid, the mouth on you is indecent.” Harvey groans a little.

Mike slides his hand to cup Harvey’s hard-on. “You’ll want to adjust your measure of what constitutes ‘indecent’ when I’m done with you.”

“So stop talking, and start working,” Harvey says. And that puts them back on familiar territory, their banter full of promise, of pushing each other towards what they really want. Mike slides his hands over Harvey’s shoulders, peeling the jacket off. He catches the jacket and nudges Harvey into the living room. He throws Harvey’s jacket over a chair and takes off his own as he follows Harvey to the bedroom. Just before he walks through the door, he throws his own jacket after it. He misses. For a second, he considers walking back to rearrange it properly, but he hears a soft thud in the bedroom, probably the tie coming off. That settles it, he follows Harvey into the bedroom. When he enters Harvey’s bedroom, he feels a frisson of nerves. He tries to mask the tremor of his hands by undoing his tie, but Harvey beats him to it.

“I’d tear it, but I’m not sure you’d replace it with something more decent,” Harvey mutters as he loosens the tie. How he manages to make it sound like an endearment, Mike has no idea. The tie is unceremoniously dropped on the floor, and Harvey starts on the buttons of his shirt, his warm fingertips teasing the skin underneath. Mike tries to mirror Harvey’s trick, but with significantly less subtlety: he undoes the top buttons and slides his hand under the fabric to tease at Harvey’s nipples. It earns him a breathy groan, a sound that goes straight to his groin. He leans in to kiss Harvey deeply again while he starts to untuck his shirt. Harvey is working on his shirt in return, it’s like his hands are everywhere. Mike lets go of Harvey for a second to shrug off his shirt, and then takes a moment to take in the sight of him. It makes his mouth water. See, most people think women are curvy -but so is Harvey: the corded muscles of his arms, his chest, even -god help him- the delectable hint of muscle that just curves over the waistband of his pants. Right. Pants. Mike settles down between Harvey’s knees and opens the button and zips down the fly. Harvey, helpful for a change, lifts his hips and Mike tugs down his pants and briefs in one movement, down over his knees to the floor.

“See something you like?” For some reason, even naked, with a man between his legs, seconds from being blown, Harvey maintains a semblance of control. Although between the job, law school and a massive crush on his boss, Mike feels a little out of practice, but for now none of that matters. Law school is finished, his job secure, and for now he is in bed with his crush. He fully intends to make good on his words earlier. He lifts a cocky eyebrow and leans in. “Don’t be careful about what you want,” Harvey said. He swallows Harvey’s dick as deeply as he can take it in one go, and he hums satisfied when he hears Harvey moan. He always enjoyed pleasing his partners, but nothing compares to hearing Harvey moan. He wraps his hand around the base and licks a stripe up from his balls to the tip. He jerks gently as he licks the slit, tasting a drop of precome already. He jerks slowly, giving himself the time to try out how to make Harvey moan, what makes his breath hitch and what makes his hips cant in record time. Within a few minutes, Harvey is almost completely reduced to groans and begging, and Mike feels confident enough to interrupt and look up for a moment. Harvey looks down at him, a little confused and a lot aroused. It’s a good look on him, Mike thinks satisfied, time to push the boat out a little further.

“Feel free to tug at my hair a little,” Mike says and gets back to work. Harvey tugs at his hair, helping to set the pace. Mike notices how the thrusts become a little more erratic, and takes a deep breath through his nose, and exhales to calm himself down and swallows. He focuses on keeping his breathing steady while Harvey comes down his throat, his spine arching beautifully. When Harvey lies down, Mike gently lets go and crawls up the bed next to Harvey. Harvey lifts up his arm, and Mike curls up underneath, allowing Harvey to come down a bit before round two. Cuddling, effectively. He is trying to come up with the appropriate wise crack, but this thing between them feels a bit too frail.

“Should’ve realised you’d be a quick study here too,” Harvey mutters before pressing a kiss on his forehead.

“All-round awesome, that’s me. Roll over.”

“And bossy.”

“Shut up, you like it.”

It seems Harvey isn’t going to dignify that with an answer, instead scoots up and turns around to lie down on his belly. Mike decides it will do.

“Lube?” he asks.

Harvey waves at the bedside table. Mike opens the top drawer and finds an unopened box of condoms and pump bottle of Carrageena. The box is obviously new, a fact he files for future reference. He puts the bottle on the side table and puts some on his hand, allowing it to warm up a little before slathering it between Harvey’s ass cheeks. He has been looking forward to this: he has admired Harvey’s ass from afar for years and he’s finally getting his hands on them. Experimentally, he rubs one finger over his hole, allowing Harvey to get used to the sensation and to get a sense of what he likes.

“This stuff feels nice,” Mike says.

“Top of the line.”

Of course it is, Mike thinks to himself. He rubs gently, teasing at the edge of the rim.

“You don’t have to go easy on me,” Harvey says, “just get it over with.”

“ _Die Reise ist das Ziel,_ ” Mike argues, the road is the goal. In German, just to show he still can. “I’m sure you can take it, but I want you to enjoy it.”

Harvey bucks up his hips, chasing after the friction. Mike takes the hint, and pushes in one finger, crooking it to find his prostate. After a few seconds he is rewarded with Harvey throwing back his head. Mike grins and gently slides over it again. He distracts Harvey by stroking his back with his free hand and adds another finger. It meets very little resistance, so Mike teases at his prostate for a bit, and breathes “God, you’re beautiful.” Harvey grunts something into the pillow and pushes his hips up again.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that, love,” Mike teases.

Harvey props himself up a little. “Will you please get inside me?” he bites out.

Mike pumps some more lube on his fingers and tries for three fingers. When he finds that Harvey responds with nothing but eagerness, he gets up from the bed to take off his pants and underwear. There is the little frisson of nerves again. He opens the box of condoms, and takes one out and tosses it between Harvey’s knees. Harvey props himself up to watch him as Mike rummages in his drawer. For a second, Mike wonders how many men and women went before him, but he shuts down that line of thinking fast. Maybe they’ll talk numbers later -later- but for now, he’s going to enjoy this for what it is.

He turns to face Harvey, seated on his knees, makes a bit of a show of jerking himself to full hardness. Harvey lies back down and spreads his legs in invitation. Mike crawls between them, and rolls the condom over his dick. He adds a little more lube, just to be sure. He lines himself up. He presses in a finger, just a little tease to help Harvey relax, because he’s caring like that. Then he takes his finger out and gentles his dick in, slowly, inch by inch. Harvey presses his hips up to meet him, to get him inside faster. Mike puts his hands on Harveys hips when he bottoms out.

“Oh god, you feel amazing,” he sighs and undulates his hips a little. He thrusts gently at first, but when Harvey responds by meeting his thrusts, he picks up the pace. He closes his eyes, closing out everything but the amazing feeling of Harvey’s ass and Harvey’s groans. He bites his lip, he can feel his orgasm building. He bends over Harvey’s body, pressing as close as he can without slipping out.

“You feels so fucking great, Harvey, so good for me,” he mutters. He kisses Harvey’s neck and shoulders, enjoys the feeling of Harvey going limp underneath him. Mike picks up the pace, chasing his pleasure, thrusting hard and deep the way he likes best. He rubs a finger over his nipple and that finally sends him over the edge. He comes, his dick buried inside Harvey, and slumps over him again to ride out the aftershocks.

When his dick goes soft again , he slides out to roll off the condom. He chucks it in a bin that again is suspiciously close to the bed. Had Harvey been hoping, or even expecting this would be the end of their day? Harvey throws back the covers and slips underneath. Mike just slots beside him as the little spoon. Harvey throws the cover over them both and wraps an arm around him. After some wiggling and adjusting, they are both comfortable.

“You came through on that promise,” Harvey says into Mike’s hair.

“Of course I did. When do I fail not to be awesome?” Mike says, mock-offended.

“Very rarely.”

“Hmmm, I’m flattered.”

“You should be.”

“Also going to sleep now. I’ll flatter you some back in the morning.”

“You do that.”

And with that they fall asleep. 

 


End file.
